Volucris took a nap this afternoon, and woke up with a bigger jaw. Also, he couldn’t walk for about two hours afterward because his brain hadn’t gotten the memo that his legs were now a good centimeter longer. This isn’t the first time this has happened, either.
The funny smell coming from his room, however, is this:
An interest in World War Two became an interest in period military technology became an interest in modern military technology became an interest in modeling. I’m just going to have to get used to odor of modeling cement wafting out of Volucris’s room.
He’s a decent shot, too. He went to the firing range recently, and came back with this:
But you know something? When I look at him, I still see this: